


your name tastes like honey, like blood

by violetstorm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drabble Collection, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining, Sickfic, but what else is new, ignis is oblivious to his own feelings, promptos there but its brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 17:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetstorm/pseuds/violetstorm
Summary: It starts with a tickle in the back of Ignis' throat.It ends with a flower.





	your name tastes like honey, like blood

**Author's Note:**

> im posting this at 2 am (again) with a cat laying on my chest. i apologize for any errors or typos made-- i gave up on editing because it's kinda hard to do that when your kitty's slamming her tail against your keyboard. ;;;
> 
> Enjoy! ☆

It starts off with a tickle in the back of Ignis’ throat.

He thinks nothing of it, shrugs it off. He goes about the rest of his day, through meetings and cooking and reports with no hassle. It’s probably a minor cold, it’ll fade within the upcoming days.

_ (It never goes away. A constant itching that seems determined to stay.) _

* * *

 

Ignis rarely has time for anything outside of his duties as the prince’s adviser. He’s no time to relax, no time to sleep, socialize, date. His entire life is one giant to-do list that never seems to end. Cross one thing off, move onto the next.

He’s training one day, with his daggers, as usual. He’s hitting all his targets spot on, as usual. It’s still a tough workout, but Ignis doesn’t mind in the slightest. No, workouts tend to clear his mind of all anxiety, leaving no room for anything but the thrill of adrenaline rushing through his veins as he throws his daggers, one after another.

He understands why Gladio loves the exertion of training so much, so it’s no surprise when Ignis finds Gladio leaning against the wall outside of the gymnasium. Ignis wears a towel around his neck and he’s sure there is sweat coating his shirt, but Gladio lights up upon seeing him all the same. 

“Iggy! Hey, I was hopin’ I’d catch you around here,” Gladio says. He approaches Ignis and, well, Ignis has never been a person to be overly self-conscious, yet he finds himself hoping that he doesn’t stink of sweat in Gladio’s presence.

“Hello, Gladio. Did you need something?”

“No. Yes?” Gladio shrugs. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for ages. It’s been forever since we got a chance to talk, yeah? You busy right now?”

Ignis thinks about the reports he has yet to write. Noct’s essay that he promised he would help edit. The new recipe he’s been meaning to test out. He regards Gladio, who’s looking at him with puppy-dog eyes, a feat that no teenaged man should ever be able to pull off.

His schedule leaves him with little time to socialize.

“No,” Ignis says. “I’ve nothing important going on. Did you have somewhere in mind we could go to?”

His throat begins to burn halfway through, like he’s swallowed something particularly spicy. It must be the anxiety of ignoring his duties, Ignis thinks, and pushes the feeling aside. It’s true. He’s hardly spent any time with Gladio as of late, and he’ll not let this mysterious feeling stop him.

* * *

 

“Noct,” Ignis begins. “You cannot ignore your duties.”

Noct, the esteemed prince of Lucis, proceeds to childishly flip Ignis off from where he’s lying face-down on his sofa. Ignis sniffs and sets down the pile of reports he’s holding with more force than necessary.

“You must learn how to protect yourself and use the Crystal’s magic.”

Noct grumbles.

“Gladio is only trying to teach you how to fight. He may be harsh, but there is no room for mercy on the battlefield.”

No response.

“Yes, Gladio is a highly capable fighter on his own. After all, he has been training to be your shield all his life. However, you cannot always rely on him.”

Nothing. Ignis rubs his throat. It’s starting to annoy him again. Perhaps he should take some medication for it? No, there’s no time to buy some. He’s already losing precious time to work on his reports because of Noct’s insistence that  _ training with Gladio isn’t such a big deal, it won’t matter if I skip it once, c’mon Specs, let me off the hook? One time? Please? _

“If Gladio finds out you’ve been skipping, he’ll push you twice as hard the next time you show up.”

“Gladio’s an ass. He needs to chill.”

His chest is starting to feel strange. Perhaps he’s coming down with a cold? “Your Highness. Gladio is merely pushing you to your full potential. He follows the ‘tough love’ approach. Yes, his behaviour may suggest otherwise, but he does care about you and want you to grow stronger. He has a good heart.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Noct waves his hand in the air. “I get it, he’s a great guy, he’s  _ so  _ amazing, you want to fuck him, now are you gonna let me skip training or not?”

“No, I will not—” Ignis pauses, splutters. “Wait, what? Excuse me? Noct, what did—”

But Noct’s already picked up his gym bag and rushes past Ignis, pulling on his shoes in record time. “No skipping then. Gotta go, or I’m gonna be late. Bye, Specs!”

Ignis watches the door close. He’s left alone in Noct’s apartment, his cheeks burning from Noct’s implication. No, no, he was only teasing. Ignis coughs, tries to swallow around the lump that’s been growing in his throat. He’s been getting used to this strange feeling, but it’s starting to get worse. Oh, dear.

* * *

 

He’s in a meeting and though he attempts to stifle them, his coughs are noticeable by everyone in the room. More than once is he asked if he’s alright or if he needs some water. Ignis only shakes his head, clears his throat, and asks that the meeting continues, coughing surreptitiously into a handkerchief. He catches Gladio’s eye during the meeting and they don’t need to speak— Gladio’s gaze says it all.

_ I don’t believe you. We’re going to talk after this. _

So Ignis tries to excuse himself quickly, leaving the room in haste. He thinks he hears Gladio calling his name above the hustle and ignores it, only for a hand to reach out and grab at his arm. Ignis whirls around and he’s face-to-face with Gladio. Ah. Well, the escape was worth the attempt.

Ignis’ face is unbearably warm.

“Iggy, the hell’s up with you? And don’t give me that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit.”

“His Majesty and your father are but a room away, Gladio. If they were to hear you speak like this…”

“Fuck ‘em,” Gladio says casually. “I’m more worried about  _ you.  _ You’ve just been getting more and more sick. You need a break.”

_He was worrying?_ _Over me?_   “Nonsense. If I were to take a break, who will keep Noct in line? I’ll be  _ fine,  _ Gladio. Your worries are appreciated, but unnecessary.” 

“You can’t do everything on your own, Ignis. That’s why I’m here, ain’t it? You don’t need to carry this burden all on your own.”

Ignis has plenty of time later that night to contemplate Gladio’s words, having taken them to heart. He doesn’t need to cook Noct dinner or pick him up from school and help him with homework, leaving his schedule blissfully empty.

_ Gladiolus [1:43]: get some rest ok? Ive got everything from here _

He falls asleep that night, staring at Gladio’s texts. He massages his chest. That strange feelings has gone from his throat to his chest now. Perhaps it’s getting more serious. He should talk to somebody about it. His first instinct is to text Gladio, but he squashes that thought down as quickly as it rises. Gladio wouldn’t appreciate hearing Ignis whine about some minor cold like a child. He’s better things to do.

* * *

 

Ignis has never liked the arcade. It’s too loud, too crowded, too messy a nd too hard to keep track of Noct. He’s on edge, every person a potential threat. He doesn’t know what possessed him to say yes when Gladio asked him to join along on Noct and Prompto’s trip to the arcade. Something in Gladio’s tone, perhaps.

He opens his phone to check his emails and texts. Nothing’s there. Of course. It’s only been about two minutes since he last checked, the urge to be doing  _ something  _ productive flooding his mind. He’s so lost in thought that, when he finally looks up from his phone, Noct and Prompto are missing from that one shooting game they were just playing.

Ignis looks around the arcade and can’t catch sight of them. He exhales and begins pushing past teenagers, eyes wildly running along the room, conjuring up worst-case scenarios.  _ Where are they? _

“‘Ey, watch where you’re goin’, asshole!”

Ignis stops dead in his tracks and turns to face the man he’s pushed aside in his desperation to find Noct. His features are contorted into a mask of fury, his fists raised high in the air. 

“My apologies,” Ignis says and he turns to leave but then he’s stumbling— the man’s pushed him bodily.

“Who said I was finished with you?” The man grabs at Ignis’ collar, the fabric bunching under his fingers. He reeks of alcohol— that can’t be legal. “You wanna go? C’mon, let’s go, bitch!”

“That’s  _ enough.” _

And the man is being shoved off of Ignis, back into the crowd. Ignis falters, adjusts his glasses, when he feels an arm around his shoulders. He looks up to see Gladio there, all but snarling at the drunken man.  _ Where did he…? _

“And who the fuck are you?” the man spits.

“I ain’t in the mood to fight,” Gladio says. He tightens his grip around Ignis’ shoulders. “Back off.”

Gladio’s much bigger than him, wearing a tight tank that exposes his muscles for the world to see. His tattoo is stark against his skin and Ignis resists the urge to run his fingers along it. The way the feathers almost  _ripple_ when Gladio flexes, the curve of his body-- it's a crime, nothing should be allowed to look that good. The drunken man clearly sees Gladio's muscles, the power behind them, for he scowls and fades back into the crowd.

“Gladio— where’s Noct?” Ignis says the moment his brain starts working again.

“Easy.” Gladio’s arm hasn’t left his shoulders. “He’s right over there. I’ve been keepin’ an eye on him. You alright? That guy didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. Thank you.”

“It’s nothin’.”

Gladio smiles and something swells in Ignis’ chest. It’s dazzling and Ignis finds himself lightheaded. No, it’s just the adrenaline still coursing through his body from his encounter with that drunken man. That’s what it is.

When Gladio finally takes his arm off of Ignis’ shoulders, he finds himself craving that touch and quickly vanquishes that thought from his head. It won’t do him any good to get used to Gladio protecting him  _ (despite how comforting Gladio’s touch is). _

Later that night, Ignis has a coughing fit in his apartment, alone. He coughs into his hands and when he looks, there’s blood and tiny bits of yellow.

* * *

 

Ignis backflips easily, just out of reach of Gladio’s broadsword. He lands smoothly and when he looks up, Gladio’s staring at him with admiration, a smile stretching over his face.

“Damn. No matter how many times I watch you do that, I can’t get over it. It’s like a show.”

Ignis ignores the blood coursing through his cheeks— Gladio’s only just trying to rile him up. Nothing more. Still, it works, for Ignis tightens his grip on his daggers and charges Gladio again. His movements are all swift and deadly, lithe and graceful as he avoids Gladio’s blade. For a man of his size, however, Gladio is  _ quick  _ and it’s not long before Ignis finds his legs being swept out from under him.

He’s pinned to the training mat. Gladio holds his wrists, bent over his body, panting. Sweat drips down his brow. Gladio’s stare is intense and for a moment, they’re both frozen in time. Ignis swallows.

“Best two out of three?” Ignis says, his voice more hoarse than he intends. Gladio blinks once, twice, like he’s coming out of a daze, then finally releases Ignis’ wrists to sit up. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Let’s do it, then.”

Ignis finds his daggers, readies them by his side. Gladio hefts his broadsword onto his shoulders, always such an impressive feat of strength. It’s wooden, but the size and weight are still impressive, notches and scratches decorating the wood from years of practice. It’s one of Gladio’s favourites to use when sparring. He’s practically glowing, truly at home in battle, even if it’s only a spar.

Ignis takes a deep breath, ignoring the tingling in his chest. This time, it’s Gladio who makes the first move. Ignis parries his blade easily. It’s like a dance. They’re so fine-tuned to each other’s battle styles, their movements harmonious. It’s so easy to predict what Gladio will do next.

He’s diving forward, sword raised to strike and Ignis prepares to block when the tingling in his chest suddenly becomes stronger, sending Ignis into a coughing fit. He hunches over, hands flying to cover his mouth. His daggers fall to the ground with a clatter. There’s rapid footsteps approaching him and Ignis braces for impact.

But there’s only a gentle hand on his back, massaging him through his fit. With watery eyes, Ignis lifts his head to face Gladio. His blade has joined Ignis’ daggers on the floor, thrown aside without any care. 

“ _ Fuck,  _ Iggy. I didn’t— I had no idea you were still sick. Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to push yourself like this.”

“No, it’s—”  _ cough.  _ “It’s quite alright. You needn’t—” another cough. “—apologize.”

“Still,” Gladio says. What a gentleman, taking the blame. “You need me to take you to a doctor or something? This has been going on for  _ months  _ now. You’re killing yourself.”

“I’ll keep your suggestion in mind.” Ignis straightens up, wipes sweat from his brow. “Really, Gladio, it’s just a stubborn cold. Come, shall we start again? I believe this round went to you, so we’ll need to have a tie-breaker.”

“I— what?” Gladio blinks. “That’s… I’m not gonna spar with you while you’re like this, Iggy. You need to get some rest and a doctor.”

“Really, Gladio, I’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.” Gladio frowns, but he doesn't press the issue. 

He’s not quite able to convince Gladio to let him off the hook later, however. Gladio dumps him at his apartment, all but tucks him into bed, and Ignis has barely gotten his glasses off when there’s a cup of warm tea placed into his hands.

It’s so oddly domestic, intimate. Ignis never voices this, of course. He’s too grateful that Gladio’s long since left (after much insistence) when he begins coughing again. There’s more blood and in the morning, Ignis finds a petal in his bedsheets.

* * *

 

“ _ Don’t _ say anything,” Gladio says.

Really, he would look a lot more intimidating if he weren’t laying in bed under mountains of blankets, with a red nose and a box of tissues by his side. As it stands, he looks like a particularly disgruntled pup and Ignis snorts. His heart is now just beginning to slow down from the adrenaline rush he got when he heard Noct offhandedly say that he's got no training today, Gladio's at home sick.

_ (So perhaps he rushed faster than he should have to Gladio's place, but Ignis had to see Gladio for himself, couldn't bear to sit around and do nothing while he was at home, sick.) _

“It seems that in your haste to remind me to take care of myself, you’ve neglected your own health.”

Gladio groans and burrows deeper into the blanket. With a tut, Ignis walks over, resting the back of his hand against Gladio’s forehead. It’s burning hot.

“Gladio, you’re—”

“Yeah. I know. Bathroom, top cabinet. S’where all the medicine is.”

Ignis purses his lips. “I’ll be only a moment.” He leaves Gladio’s bedroom and enters the bathroom, taking a moment to pause. It smells so strongly of Gladio’s aftershave, his cologne and Ignis refuses to inhale deeply. The scent isn’t comforting to him, it isn’t  _ nice,  _ and Ignis is loathe to admit that he’s enraptured by the way Gladio smells because that is  _ weird. _

_ (Still, he can’t help but freeze whenever Gladio leans close, whispering into his ear, sending shivers down his spine and wish that Gladio’s whispers promised something… more.) _

He finds the medicine easily enough, and it’s with a cool washcloth in hand does he go back to Gladio’s side, sitting on the edge of the bed. He pats the lump hidden under the blankets and it grunts.

“I’ve brought you your medicine,” Ignis says, and Gladio’s head peeps out. He pushes himself to a sitting position, taking the pill from Ignis’ hand, a glass of water in the other.

“Thanks.” Gladio takes the medicine with no hesitation. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Listen,” Gladio places his hands on Ignis’. They’re warm, so warm. “Uh, sorry about earlier. I… I didn’t mean to be short with you. It’s just that—”

“You needn’t apologize.” Ignis grips the bedsheets. Gladio’s hands are so big, rough with calluses, yet his touch is ever soft. “Really, I understand.”

“Bein’ sick sucks.”

Ignis hums, helps Gladio lay back down on the bed. He picks up the washcloth, folding it carefully, then gently places it down on Gladio’s forehead. Gladio winces.

“It’s cold.”

“It’s meant to be. You’re hot, Gladio.”

“Thanks.” Gladio winks and Ignis cheeks flare up.

“You—” Ignis takes a breath and wills the blush in his cheeks to go down. It’s only Gladio’s playful flirting, he does this with everyone, it’s no reason to get riled up. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Better me than whatever’s still got you sick,” he says. The surprise must show clear on Ignis’ far, for Gladio shakes his head. “Princess’ been keepin’ me updated. He says you haven’t been getting any better.”

“The one time you trust Noct.”

“He doesn’t joke around when it comes to your health. And you shouldn’t either, Iggy.” Gladio’s face has gone uncharacteristically serious. “You shouldn’t even be here right now. I’m coughing all over you.”

“Well, if I’m as sick as you say, then I daresay I haven’t any worries sitting next to you.”

“You’re sick as a dog, and you’re still trying to take care of me. I dunno if you’re the most amazing person alive or the stupidest.”

“You’re very welcome, Gladio.” Ignis rolls his eyes. “I know my being here has helped you greatly.”

“It has. And I’m grateful for that. But I wanna see you get better too.”

Ignis has to turn his head away. Gladio’s words are so sweet and caring and Ignis has to ask what he’s ever done to deserve them.

“Go home, Iggy,” Gladio continues. “It’s just a cold. I’ll be better tomorrow. C’mon, get some rest.”

Gladio’s too hard to say no to. It’s how Ignis finds himself laying in his own bed, staring at the ceiling. There’s that strange feeling in his chest, prickling at his lungs. 

_ Gladio, do you have any idea what you do to me? _

Ignis coughs into his sleeve. It’s stained red by the end of the night and in the morning, Ignis can barely speak, his throat rubbed raw. 

* * *

 

The way Prompto finds out about Ignis’ cold is not the way he would have wanted. Well, he would have preferred Prompto never find out at all, but.

They’re at Noct’s apartment, the boys having gotten together for a gaming night. The television is blaring, the curtains drawn, and Ignis is bringing drinks from the kitchen for Noct and Prompto, because he will not stand for the boys drinking energy drinks all night.

A trill that’s becoming familiar that indicates a game over sings from the television. Noct groans and Prompto slouches over. “Fuck,” Prompto says. “This level’s  _ impossible!  _ There’s no way we can beat with just the three of us. Where’s Gladio? He’s not coming?” Prompto looks around, as if expected to see Gladio pop out from behind a curtain. 

Noct shrugs. “Nah. I asked him earlier and he said he was gonna be spending the day with a  _ special girl _ instead.”

Chills wash over Ignis’ body, freezing him in place, turning his blood to ice. He nearly stumbles and spills the drinks he’s carrying— it’s only years of training that let him regain and keep his balance. Even so, he has to place a hand along the wall for support. His lungs feel like they’re collapsing.  _ Why? Whywhywhy?  _ The question runs through his head over and over again.

“No way.” Prompto’s eyes go wide. “Who? One of the Crownsguard?”

“Not like that, you idiot. It’s Iris. She asked him to go see some movie with her or something.”

“ _ Oohh.”  _

Ignis wishes that Noct’s correction would calm him down, would answer the question in his head, would make everything better. But it doesn’t. He’s still leaning against the wall, the room blurring before him. He feels the familiar pain of a headache coming, but it’s nothing compared to the fire lit in his chest.

Though he attempts to stifle them, he begins to cough, loud enough to alert the other two. Noct looks at him then all but vaults over the sofa with a cry of, “ _ Specs!”  _ and that’s  _ exactly  _ what Ignis wanted to avoid.

“Fuck, you alright?” Noct says.

“Igs, you good? What the hell’s going on? Don’t tell me you’re sick.” Prompto’s by his side now, too. Absolutely wonderful. Ignis adjusts his glasses and stands up straight, his vision spinning.

“I’m—”

“ _ Not  _ fine,” Noct says pointedly, interrupting him. “Specs, when was the last you saw a doctor? Fuck, did you  _ ever _ see a doctor for this?”

Prompto cocks his head. “This?”

“This… cold or some shit,” Noct continues. Ignis would reprimand Noct for speaking for him, but he’s afraid he’ll vomit if he opens his mouth, so he stays silent. “He’s been coughing up a storm for like, months now, and he won’t go to a fucking doctor for it.”

“Coughing for months?” Prompto says, his voice oddly quiet.

“Tell me about it. I’ve been trying to get someone to see him for weeks now. Specs,  _ go see a doctor.  _ It’s getting worse.”

Ignis glares at Noct to the best of his ability. “I appreciate your concern, Your Highness, but I have everything under control.”

Noct sighs, looks despairingly to Prompto. “D’you see what shit I have to put up with?”

“I am fine, Noct,” Ignis says again, and he’s really  _ not  _ looking forward to this argument.

“You’re  _ not,  _ Specs,” Not says again, and he’s really trying to start this argument. “And fine, if you’re not going to see a doctor, then at least go home. You’re dismissed. Or whatever.”

“Pardon?”

“Go home. I’ll make it an order if I have to. Go home and get some rest and go see a doctor. You’re not gonna do the last one but gods,  _ please,  _ stop killing yourself. Prompto and I can survive without you for a day. We’ll order takeout. Just… go home. Please?”

“I…” Ignis wants to say  _ no,  _ refuse, push back his own health in order to take care of Noct as he’s always done, but he can hardly muster up the air to  _ breathe,  _ let alone speak. Gladio’s voice echoes in his ears.  _ I wanna see you get better.  _  “...Very well. I shall take my leave. Okay?”

“ _ Yes,  _ thank you.”

It takes more effort to prepare to leave than what Ignis would prefer and he’s thankful for Noct by his side, offering a hand without his asking. He’s shoved outside the door to Noct’s apartment, and inside, Noct and Prompto wave him good-bye.

“Get some rest, yeah?” Noct says. 

“Yeah,” Prompto echoes. “Take care of yourself, ‘kay, Iggy?”

Ignis doesn’t like the knowing look Prompto’s giving him, piercing right through his body.

The look follows him back to his own apartment, where he collapses into his bed, face-down. He lies there for what must be hours in the dark, sleep tugging at his mind, pain keeping him awake. It’s a horrible balance but at lost last, Ignis succumbs, passing out.

* * *

 

Ignis wakes at midnight in a cold sweat. He can’t breathe. He  _ can’t breathe.  _ There’s something in his throat, scratching and clawing and he’s stumbling out of bed. The room’s spinning around him, but he miraculously makes it to his bathroom in his haze. Ignis leans over the toilet and dry heaves until he loses track of time. 

The lights of the bathroom hurt.

He rests his head against the wall, his body aching too much for him to stand. He’s gone lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. The pain feels like it’s spread from his chest to his entire body. He’s being stabbed by thousands of needles. This isn’t any mere cold. But in his haste to get to the bathroom, he’s left his phone beside his bed and he’s feeling too boneless to move to get it and call somebody for assistance. 

So Ignis lays there and lays there, trying to shut out the world and ignore the pain that’s slowly building until he feels something rise in his throat.

He doesn’t make it to the toilet. He hunches over where he’s sitting and retches. It’s like something is tearing out of his throat and Ignis shuts his eyes, tears leaking out onto his cheeks. It’s not bile he vomits out. Something strangely soft is in his mouth and Ignis coughs once, twice, enough times to leave him gasping for air. 

It feels like he’s just hacked up all his insides. With a groan, Ignis forces his eyes open to stare at the mess he’s made. 

Flowers lie in front of him on the tiled floor. Torn petals and ruined leaves, bent stems and scattered pollen. It’s a mess, indeed, and Ignis can’t help but stare. Because he knows exactly what’s in front of him. He’s seen it so many times, memorized its shape, its scent. He’s got a vase of them sitting on his desk.

Gladiolus.

He’s been growing gladiolus flowers inside his lungs. And now Ignis has the name of what’s been plaguing him. Not a cold, but a disease. Everything seems so obvious now. 

Ignis stares at the blood—  _ his  _ blood— coating the flower’s petals, smells their sickeningly sweet scent mixed with copper.

So this is what that strange feeling is.

Love.

**Author's Note:**

> midway through editing this i had to start using one hand because my cat started attacking my other one. I guess she's not a fan of Gladnis? HMMM
> 
> (edit 05/29/2019: thanks to the comments on this fic, I've written a sequel! [you need only say so, love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19016425)


End file.
